


Some Letters of Mine

by Cryptand_Bismol



Series: Miles Maitland Loves [1]
Category: Bright Young Things, Vile Bodies - Evelyn Waugh
Genre: 1920s, Anal Sex, And the drawing version of nudes, Declarations Of Love, Erotic letters, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, Love, Love Letters, M/M, Mostly Gen, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Canon, Romance, Some James Joyce inspired letters, The letter version of sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptand_Bismol/pseuds/Cryptand_Bismol
Summary: "As a young man with access to a healthy fortune, and as the youngest son of a Lord especially, Miles found himself at so many of society’s gatherings from a tender age, and the only difference since he came of age was that he now attended them alone, and he attended a lot more exciting parties than his mother was invited to.While he had long since lost his respectability at one of those tame gatherings, in the greenhouse of Lady Kettering’s house at the hand of her son no less, the type of parties he attended now were often more conducive to him having a good time, whether that was indulging in expensive champagne, a compact full of cocaine, or the waiting arms of whatever man would grace his bed that night."In which Miles meets Tiger LaBouchere and sends some rather scandalous letters(Can be read separate to the rest of the series)





	Some Letters of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> (Is it actually spelled LaBouchere? It just seems right with the capitalisation there)
> 
> Ok the letters I wrote are smutty, but good God they’re nothing compared to James Joyce’s letters which are just obscene. They’re enough to make even me blush. That being said I did use some of his slightly less intense lines for inspiration, which are marked with an asterisk (*) in the text
> 
> There is always the elephant in the room with this ship of the whole letter business, but I would like to preface this by saying my take is that the ‘left them lying around’ part was accidental, and that Tiger would not leave out such incriminating letters about himself even if he were spiteful enough to out someone like that.  
If you want to read this separate from the other parts (or if you want to read them together: Spoiler!) then my plan is that Tiger disposes of the letters in a wastepaper bin at his hotel (not the Shepheard) and does not expect that the maid would snoop around in them – a rather unhappy accident
> 
> Oh and Agatha is a lesbian, but that's pretty much a given. And only hinted at here.

**London - 1924**

As a young man with access to a healthy fortune, and as the youngest son of a Lord especially, Miles found himself at so many of society’s gatherings from a tender age, and the only difference since he came of age was that he now attended them alone, and he attended a lot more exciting parties than his mother was invited to.

While he had long since lost his respectability at one of those tame gatherings, in the greenhouse of Lady Kettering’s house at the hand of her son no less, the type of parties he attended now were often more conducive to him having a good time, whether that was indulging in expensive champagne, a compact full of cocaine, or the waiting arms of whatever man would grace his bed that night.

This party, however, was not one of the fun ones.

It had seemed promising at first, based on the guest list Simon had batted about, but Simon had failed to mention that the rest of the guestlist consisted of the positively boorish parents of the young interesting people. Even his mother had been invited, unbeknownst to him until he quite came across her in the hallway.

She must have found his rather outlandish attire, and especially so the lip paint, to be most offensive, for she frowned at him and scrubbed a thumb across his cheek blush with distain, “Miles, do you really think it’s appropriate to look so tapette?” She took in blue silk waistcoat and the red bowtie, the stark white slacks and the perfectly coiffed curls, tutting as she look him up and down, “Just like your father,” she muttered under her breath, then turned her nose up at him before departing back down the corridor.

Miles was positively thrilled to upset his mother so; she was always such a prude. In fact, he quite thought he ought to do more to do so, starting with finding some charming young man to shamelessly flirt with.

Not wanting to return to the hall just yet, he slipped outside to scout his chances there, and found himself most in luck. There, by the side door, was a heavenly looking man in grey tweed slacks and flat cap, puffing away at a smoke. What struck him most though was the lack of jacket, and the pull of the sinful thin shirt across his broad, broad shoulders. His face wasn’t a let down either, a lovely sharp jaw, the charmingly slanted nose, the strong brow. Why, he looked positively delicious.

He wasn’t sure what it was about the way he stood, but Miles quite had an inkling that this beautiful specimen might be amenable to giving Miles a few lovely moments of his time. His resolved strengthened as he walked closer, the man looking up at the crunch of gravel and giving him a seemingly automatic look-over.

Yes, he rather fancied his chances.

“Oh, aren’t you a dream,” Miles said, unashamedly looking him up and down, “Whatever did you do to get those shoulders!”

The man rolled his shoulders at their mention, looking Miles over again, “Worked in an ironworks for a bit,” he said, “More of the rough sort than I imagine someone like you is looking for.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I like rough,” Miles said lowly.

The man cast him another side eyed glance, “I would never have guessed,” he mumbled sarcastically as he took a long drag of his smoke.

Not one to be put off by a little acridness, in fact he found it all the more attractive, Miles asked, “So, what’s a rugged labourer like you doing at a party like this?”

“Labouring,” he answered shortly, pausing a moment to blow out a cloud of smoke before continuing, “I’m Mrs Panrast’s chauffeur for the night, dreadfully boring but pay is well enough.”

“So, I won’t get to delight in watching you pound away on some metalwork tonight? Pity,” he dared, moving even closer to stand before him, “Tell me, how does one go from slaving away over an anvil to driving around London?”

The man took a moment to consider what he should divulge and, seeing no reason not to, said, ”Always loved cars, ever since I saw the New York to Paris when I was a boy. Chauffeuring your lot around is the only driving job worth the money now, except if you get high up on those racing tours. I’d drive in them myself, if I had the means to get a motor car. Of course, I can only get means if I put in a few hours at the works, then a few hours driving rich old ladies about.” 

“An aspiring motor man, why, you are a treat,” Miles smoothed a hand down Tiger’s lapel, “I tell you what, my brother has quite the fine vehicle rather rusting away in his drive. He lets me use it sometimes, of course; how about I extend the offer to you?”

“Yeah, and what do you want for that kind of deal?”

“Why ever do you think I must want something?” Miles asked coyly, leaning in closer.

“I know the type of payment your lot is after.” 

Miles smiled at him, “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be amenable, darling. Why else would you let one of _my lot_ so scandalously close?”

“Not sure I’d get away with telling Lord Throbbing’s son to sod off.”

Miles laughed, “I see you’ve been paying attention! Did Mrs Panrast give you the run down?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about it, who to talk to, who not to. You were on the list not to, you know.”

“Oh how divine, I do love to be the naughty one.” 

The man loosened his posture, just a bit, “Yes, I quite expect you’re naughty a lot. You often proposition nameless strangers?”

“Oh, you’re hardly a stranger, why, you’re Mrs Panrast’s chauffeur, you want to be a racer, I positively know you now. And, well, you’re the one withholding names, darling.”

“Fine, fine. Tiger LaBouchere, at your service.”

Miles could have swooned, “Oh darling, you could have said you were French, I’d have tried harder. And Tiger, I say, you are simply delicious!”

Tiger huffed a laugh, “I’m not that French, only on my grandfather’s side. And this was you not trying?”

“If I were trying, I’d have offered you more than just the car.”

“I quite thought you were offering that anyway,” Tiger said, “Besides, I’m sure my payment will be good enough to cover the cost of whatever it is you’re selling, at any rate.”

“Will be?” Miles said delightedly, “Promises, promises. You’re quite in luck, then, that I brought the car today. How about I show you the back seat, and we settle a down payment?” 

Tiger looked about, then tossed the cigarette butt aside, “I have to be back here by two.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement in three hours.” 

They did indeed reach a mutually satisfying conclusion, and Tiger was back just in time to see to bringing Mrs Panrast home, cap lost to the Bentley’s footwell and hair only a little dishevelled. 

Despite his offering of the car, which they had used most thoroughly, Miles didn’t make any specific plans to actually honour the invitation. Neither would pretend the offer was anything more than a euphemistic proposition. If Tiger wanted to actually take him up on it, he knew well enough where to call. 

So he wasn’t surprised that a month or so passed without word from Tiger, or even much thought to him, not when he’d met that darling Swedish chap who had kept him wonderfully captive for a whole weekend before he departed back to Stockholm, or that older Royal Guardsman who was a little portly but knew exactly how to make his short break from duty memorable. 

It was at one of his mother’s gatherings, which he refused to call a party on account of their usual dullness, that he saw Tiger again, once more chauffeuring Mrs Panrast to the house. He and Miles shared a knowing and appreciative look for a moment, which he suspected did not go unnoticed by his mother, if her disapproving frown was any indication.

The drivers, for which there were a good dozen, had been invited to share drinks together in the kitchen while the gathering raged on across the rest of the ground floor. 

While most of his Mother’s friends, and Edward, had kept this gentle segregation, many of the younger guests had slipped into the kitchen to speak to the vastly more interesting chauffeurs, and Miles, naturally, found himself among them, escorted by a divine woman he’d befriended called Agatha. She, being pretty and youthful and wild enough to wear trousers, had been taken a shine to immediately, and relished in the attention they poured over her, even if she had no intention of indulging any _man_. Miles, however, had sought out Tiger and certainly did intend to indulge him again, if he so wished. With a tilt of the head, Tiger followed Miles out into the empty courtyard. 

“Your hair is different,” Tiger remarked, noting the straightened fringe his mother and her guests apparently approved of, “doesn’t make you look nearly as queer as the curls.”

“Can a hairstyle really say so much about a man?” 

“Well, with you I don’t suppose it’s the hairstyle more than the make-up.”

“And here I was thinking you liked the lip rouge.” 

Tiger’s lips quirked up, “It has its merits, I suppose. Though I still have a stain on my shirt collar.” 

“Think of it as a favour, a token to remember me by.”

“Yes, to remind me you owe me a new shirt. And my cap.” 

“Oh that dreadful thing, I’m afraid it’s lost now,” Miles dismissed offhandedly, “Though if you really feel I owe you, I can think of a few ways to make it up to you.”

“Ah, another payment.” 

“Oh yes, quite so,” he said, “Now you mention it though, I think I may have spotted your lost hat in my room.”

“Oh, you think?”

“Yes, perhaps it would be prudent do go search together.”

“Lead the way, then.”

“You know,” Miles said, head resting on Tiger’s wonderfully broad chest, “The offer of the car is still open.” 

“I quite thought that was you being facetious,” Tiger said, tapping some stray ash into the holder on the dresser.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a serious offer at the time, but I’d be willing to honour it. I so rarely use it myself anyway,” he said, “besides, perhaps it would give us more reason to meet.”

“Hmm, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to that, though I can’t promise the car won’t get banged up if I do take it to any races. Motor men can be brutal buggers.”

“Oh yes, I quite agree, they can be so wonderfully rough indeed,” Miles giggled, “But don’t trouble yourself, darling, mother hasn’t cut me off yet and I have more than enough to pay for any repairs.”

“Seems like we have a deal then,” Tiger finished his smoke before pushing Miles gently off him and moving to dress, “Sorry, I still have to drive that bloody woman home.”

“And here I was rather hoping for another go! Well, if you must, darling,” Miles sighed, but took great pleasure in the sight of Tiger’s firm naked arse as he searched for his trousers, “Call on me at the Shepheard when you want a turn. Of the car, or me.”

Tiger turned to face him with a raised brow and an amused smirk, “You really are shameless, Miles.”

* * *

They struck up quite a lovely routine, where once a week, sometimes more, Tiger would call upon him at his hotel and together they would go for a drive. Most of the time it would be to a track of some sort, usually some amateur dirt track, where Miles would watch him practice a few laps and get in with some of the other motoring types, before they’d head back to the hotel and get intimately acquainted in his room. Other times Tiger would take him to dinner, which were Miles’s favourite by far. They’d still end up in his bed, but it was often softer, with more feeling and left Miles feeling wonderfully fluttery inside.

He was sure Lottie Crump knew what they were up to, but she had long since been used to strange men coming back to Miles’ room and instead seemed more surprised each time she saw it was Tiger once more.

Tiger was funny, in the dry sort of way that labourers tended to be, a bit brash at times, but Miles had always liked a bit of zest. He found himself looking forward to the car journeys more so than the activities afterwards, and now when they only ended in a kiss he didn’t fear it meant that Tiger wasn’t interested. In fact Tiger sometimes even looked at him fondly, a look he’d previously only seen directed to particularly nice motor cars. 

* * *

They were both roaringly drunk the first time they really spoke of what they felt for each other. Tiger could be a sweetheart, but he was often very closed off and stoic, and talk of emotions often fell by the wayside in favour of raunchy dirty talk that, while making Miles positively giddy and shudder straight to his peak, was lacking of any real feelings. Though Miles wasn’t much better himself, showering almost everyone with endearments and flatteries to the point his feelings were often hidden in plain sight.

But if there was one thing to loosen Tiger’s tongue it was alcohol. He didn’t drink too much when they were together, mostly due to the fact he was often required to drive, but today the roads were thick with ice, and as skilled of a driver Tiger was, Miles had refused to let him risk an already dangerous track in such weather. Instead Miles had brought him to Lottie’s dining room where they shared a bottle of whiskey between them, and then took a bottle of champagne back to his room.

“Miles,” Tiger said, reclining on the bed after his third glass, “You’re so pretty, you know. I like to just look at you sometimes.”

Miles leaned over to stroke at his hair and kiss him firmly, “Oh my darling, oh you sweetheart, I quite think the same of you.”

“Mmm, you’re so sexy too,” he slurred out, kissing him again, “So pretty and sexy and lovely.”

Miles fumbled at Tiger’s belt as he sloppily pressed their lips together in lieu of an answer.

“You were telling me about some friend of yours, or a party, or a thing you read in the paper, I don’t know what, but you were rambling on about something or other last week and you looked so lovely. Fluttering your hands about. And smiling. I love your smile.”

Miles stopped his ministrations, resting his head on his shoulder and stroking down his chest, “I love you,” he said quietly, “Oh darling, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Tiger was already slipping into sleep with the warmth of Miles above him, “Love you,” he said sleepily, the caressing motion of his hand on Miles’ back slowing into stillness as a light snore was dragged from his chest.

“I love you,” Miles whispered again, closing his eyes and falling into sleep himself.

* * *

“Must you go darling?” Miles whined, teasing his fingers in Tiger’s hair. It had been a month or so since that drunken night, and while Tiger was still more reserved than Miles, he’d since confessed his feelings sober, and Miles was more in love than ever. Which was why it was so cruel that Tiger was leaving in a few hours for France for some infernal racing event and rather leaving him behind.

“Come on, Miles, you know I do.”

“But three whole weeks! Whatever shall I do without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Tiger said, standing up from the bed and latching the suitcase, “You’ve got Agatha or Adam to entertain you.”

“But they’re not _you, _angelbotty. Really, expecting me to be celibate for twenty one whole days!”

“I’ll be quite celibate myself, too, Miles.”

“I should hope so.”

Tiger turned to him, pulling him up from the bed and into his arms. He pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then his lips, deepening it go that their tongues were entwined, and Miles was moaning into his mouth.

“I will miss you,” Tiger said when they parted.

“Me too,” Miles said with a watery smile, “Promise me you’ll write? As often as you can spare?”

“You know I will,” he promised, “I’ll telegram you as soon as I arrive.”

* * *

_[LE MANS TÉLÉGRAMME – LA POSTE]_

_Miles _

_Arrived in Le Mans _

_Colder here than London_

_Hotel is the Mercure_

_Do write _

_Tiger_

* * *

_Angelbotty, _

_It’s ever so hellish without you here. Agatha is ill again, poor darling, Adam is busy with writing for some magazine and has quite neglected me, and Simon is being quite miserable, not that I’m any better mind you. It’s all so dull._

_I’ve missed you quite madly. You know, I was in Barkers yesterday and the clerk was wearing that same cologne you do and just the smell of it made me long for you all the more. _

_You really are cruel to leave me alone for so long, my darling. And leaving me in the winter, too, you are beastly, you know I hate the cold. You never fail to warm me up, dearest, and oh how I long for you next to me. Your feel, your smell, your taste. I quite think I shall swallow you up as soon as you step through the door. Do you remember that night in Bristol? When you won the Knowle cup and you took me against the dresser? And the door? And then when I finally got you into bed, I rode you slow and teasing just as you like, and you flung me down under you on my belly and took me up behind.*_

_You’re such a darling beast, I love it when you go all wild and animal, Tiger, living up to your namesake. _

_Oh, you can quite see where my mind has been while you’re gone, darling, this letter has been nothing but smut! I shall write again this week, and hope my mind is clearer, oh, I never even asked how you are! _

_With deep and unending lust, _

_Miles _

* * *

_Miles,_

_I opened your letter at breakfast and I’m sure my face must have revealed all for the chaps were ribbing me about my sweetheart all morning. _

_I told them some things, of course, of how loud my sweetheart is, how she only quiets when her mouth is full, with fingers or with my cock, how she quivers so beautifully when I fuck her, how she’s so eager for it. They’re all so jealous, wish their girls were as filthy as you. _

_As for how I am, don’t think you’re the only one who’s mind is clouded with lust. There’s a park here I dream of fucking you in, right out in the open. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Trying to keep quiet, keep from squealing as I hit that spot you love so. Or would you prefer to, as you say, swallow me down? Your hot lips sucking off my cock, feeling your fingers fondling and tickling my bollocks or stuck up in me?*_

_I don’t think I will able to restrain myself when I see you next. Meet me at the crossing? If not a park, I can have you in the car, like we did our first night together. Do you recall? When you slid your hand down inside my trousers and pulled my shirt aside and touched my prick with your long tickling fingers, and gradually took it all, fat and stiff as it was, into your hand and pulled me slowly?* When we were almost caught as you took me in your mouth until I came off across your tongue? _

_Damn it all Miles, you work me up so. Know that even before I finished this letter, I had to take myself in hand. I wonder, are you doing the same as you read this? _

_Yours,_

_Tiger _

* * *

_  
_

_Angelbotty,_

_Oh my darling, I thought my head could not be any foggier, and oh, did you really tell them of me? You are positively shameless, and I will have to reward you for it once you return. I know you baulk so when I suggest it, my love, but I know your favourite thing is my head is wedged between your thighs, my hands clutching the firm cushions of your behind, and my tongue licking ravenously at you.*_

_As for your final question, I am only glad I opened it in my rooms, for I could not help but touching myself to your words. I could tell you what I did, how I made myself spill with your name across my lips, but instead I rather think I should have you wonder, have you imagine what filthy things I did with you in mind._

_My dearest, sweet angel, of course I remember that divine night, but you quite forgot to mention your own deeds, how you made me writhe so on your fingers and my legs tremble. How you had me biting at your neck to stop from crying out. Oh, you didn’t know then all you had to do was plug my mouth, your fingers in both ends of me. _

_And of course I’ll meet you at Dover! How about we book rooms there for a few nights? I should quite think we deserve a romantic getaway after all of this trouble. _

_I visited Agatha today, she was quite convinced she had pneumonia or consumption, but the nurses assured it’s only a mild chest infection. She’s been reading that new novel, A Passage to India I believe, and now she’s quite enamoured with the idea of going herself, she even asked me to accompany her! I rather have no interest to, myself, and besides the trip would be so long I’d surely not see you for a year, my love. Perhaps we could go together?_

_How was your first day of racing? I picked up The Brooklands Gazette yesterday and was quite joyed at seeing your name printed in the race listings for Circuit de la Sarthe, they even had a little portrait of you and the other racers, you know! I am quite unashamed to say I removed the image from the page and have placed it on the dresser. Though I hardly think its fair I get such a wonderful reminder of you and you have only your imagination, as wonderful as it may be. Perhaps I could pose for you when you return? But in lieu of a photographer I have tried my hand at art, I hope this sketch of me will suffice. Don’t have too much fun with it!_

_All my love, _

_Miles_

* * *

_Miles, _

_You best be bloody careful next time! I opened your letter at breakfast again, perhaps its my own blasted fault, but I was not expecting your positively filthy drawing. Lucky it was only Johnson at the table and not Marchand, and he didn’t press to see what he must have known was a lewd. As it was, I had to stay seated for quite some time to let myself soften so as not to shock the dining hall. _

_How can I not have fun with such an image? It took mere moments to spill imaging you so spread in front of the mirror. I say the image is so well done I would think you had posed and had another draw you. Did you? Truly? I see all the men who wish to have you as I do. But I have such a wild lust for your body that if you were here beside me and even if you told me with your own lips that half the men of London had had a fuck at you before me, I would still rush at you with desire. *_

_Tiger_

_Miles, _

_Sorry my previous letter was so short and so vulgar, but I was a curious mix of angry and aroused at your boldness. I have rather had a chance to calm down after today’s race (in which I placed second), though I have had a few drinks with the chaps. I worry I slipped your name out to them once or twice, though it was only to mention that the car was yours and that you were quite an interesting fellow. _

_I quite think staying in Dover would be nice, if there is a place to keep the car, of course. Shall I telegram ahead, or would you prefer to? I know you have a particular preference when it comes to your rooming. _

_India? I’ve always said Agatha is a little mad, whatever would she do there? And we certainly shan’t be going. You know I burn even on the continent; can you quite imagine me in the East? But if you are in want of a trip abroad, they are hosting a new Grand Prix in Rome next year which one of the Italian racers has a friend at. You do like all that classical Rome nonsense, yes? _

_Is that what that photo was for? How exciting! Fawcett will be most cross he missed it for a hangover of all things. I would have put your drawing in a similar place on the dresser, but I do think the maid would have a conniption at the sight of it. I do think you’re right about the photographs, if you pick up of one those Kodaks you could pose for me, and I you, if you want. _

_Look at me, a sentimental drunk. Damn it, I know I don’t say it often, but I do love you and do miss you. Once or twice I have even thought of you waiting for me at the finish to motivate me faster._

_Ever yours, _

_Tiger_

* * *

_Angelbotty _

_Oh dearest, oh darling, I am sorry, I quite wasn’t thinking, I missed you so that my senses escaped me. Never apologise for your passion, my love, I rather like you riled up, just as I like you sweet and sentimental too. I cherish any word you write to me, whether vulgar, or romantic, or impassioned, or even utter drivel, if you were to write it. _

_And my love no need to be jealous, I do say, half the men in London! You think too much of me, my dear, it must only be a quarter. Oh, I jest, I jest, you know it’s only been you for the longest time. But I shall take what you say as a compliment to my artistic skills for I did sketch it myself, spread out like you said in front of the mirror. I could show you, I’ll draw you too. Maybe I’ll draw us together, if I don’t get too distracted by the sight of you._

_You are quite right about India, I forgot you burn so, I shan’t expect you to suffer through that. Even if I rather enjoy rubbing you with salve afterwards, especially over those divine shoulders of yours. Do you know, they were the first thing I noticed when I looked at you, I quite wondered how they would feel shifting in my palms as you moved above me. Not that I need have wondered for long, dearest! I was so easy for you, after all. _

_Would you really take me to Rome? Tiger darling, yes. Yes! We could see the Colosseum, or the Trevi Fountain, or even the Sistine Chapel, if we do not burn up passing through the doors. Imagine, me sinning with you every night and then us stepping across the holiest ground. It’s delightfully devilish! _

_I picked up a Kodak as soon as I read your letter and have been quite the amateur photographer with it. I have no idea where I’ll have them developed, some of them are much too naughty to have processed. I shall have to ask at my club, I quite think Bertie ought to know. _

_It is less than a week now until we will be together again, oh my love, I am beyond excited! I mentioned Dover to Simon, and he recommends a place called The Grand there. I shall telegram ahead, I know I said a few days, but I am quite thinking I would like you to myself for the full week._

_My deepest love and affection, _

_Miles_

* * *

_Miles, _

_I’ve only gone and bloody won the amateur Circuit de la Sarthe! Marchand and Elliot had a nasty crash on the hairpin over the Pontlieue bridge, and I was able to overtake Corsand outside Arnage with a bit of a bump to the chassis, but she’s got naught more damage than a dent on the door, and the hundred pounds prize should be enough to cover it and our hotel bill for Dover, which, yes, book a week, or let’s make it two to celebrate, gorgeous. It might even be enough for champagne too! _

_But this also rather qualifies me for the Brooklands June Fixture, the prize there is a full thousand! Miles, I daresay you may see me at my own Grand Prix next._

_Sorry, I must keep this letter short for we are celebrating tonight, and I only stepped away to make sure I wrote before we meet. The boat lands at six on Friday, so I shall see you then. Make sure to pack the camera, I’m sure we’ll find use for it in Dover. Oh, and could you pick up a few more outfits from my rooms? I shall let you pick, as long as they’re not too outlandish ensembles, of course. _

_Yours, _

_Tiger_

* * *

Dover was a wonder. A mere three weeks of separation should not have made them so desperate, but after their hurried check in they had not even left the room until lunch the next day, so wrapped up in each other that they were. It was lucky that Simon had recommended a rather discrete hotel, which saw much of its business entertaining travellers to France with no questions asked, for Miles was sure he had not succeeded in being quiet.

They had ventured out too, to a beach here and there, and on one late night stroll Tiger had even discretely pulled him off as they sat huddled behind some rocks. But they had gone to restaurants too, and visited the keep, and the white cliffs, and a cocktail bar. Tiger had taken them for a long romantic drive, ending in a view over the channel with the setting sun lighting them as they shuddered and gasped in each other’s arms in the back seat.

It was the longest they had spent together since they had met, previous outings happening for a day or so a week, but now Miles couldn’t quite imagine not falling asleep by his side every night.

He hadn’t said as much to Tiger, of course, for there wasn’t much either could do about it. As tolerant as Lottie was of his visitors, he doubted it extended to the other guests who would surely notice two men living together so. And as well off as he was, his mother wasn’t quite giving him the money that would allow him to buy a house in London; no, the bulk of the funds went to Edward, not that he bothered using it for anything more useful than his own house and the car. And Tiger was staying in a smaller, quieter hotel in Hammersmith, that Miles had never been to and certainly never spent the night at, mostly because Tiger insisted that some of his old work colleagues stayed there and it was not the sort of place Miles would ever be welcome.

So it was with no small amount of reluctance that, after they had returned home and Tiger spent the night at Shepheard’s, Miles watched Tiger redress and kiss him goodbye. He looked from the window as Tiger walked away across the street, and sighed.

* * *

“Tiger,” Miles said excitedly, pulling the man around the side of the hotel, “Darling, I have the most wonderful news!”

“Miles, what are you doing here?” Tiger hissed, “I have a job in twenty minutes.”

“Oh Tiger, you won’t have to worry about jobs for a bit,” he said, kissing his cheek without even looking about. 

Tiger fervently did so himself, spotting no one who saw, to his relief, “Miles, look here, we could have been spotted.”

“Oh angelbotty, I’m sorry, I’m just so happy,” he said, squeezing Tiger’s hand. 

Tiger smiled at him, “Alright, what’s got you all hopping?”

“My brother has decided that London air is no good for him, and that he’s quite going to spend some time across in Kenya, for months, no less!” Miles explained, “And, in doing so, is leaving his house in Hertford street quite empty, and the keys with me! Oh darling, you shall have to move in at once.”

“His whole house?”

“Oh yes! I’ve already been around to look, and it’s rather perfect. It has staff, of course, but I gave them the weekend off while I move in so we shall be quite alone for a few lovely days.”

“You want me to move in with you?” Tiger clarified, his face open and hopeful for once.

“Darling, of course I do,” Miles said, buzzing with excitement, “So blast whoever you’re driving and go pack, my love, and we shall spend the evening celebrating!”

Tiger was silent for a moment, then, “I shall have to telegram Mrs Busby,” leaning down to kiss Miles solidly.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the ending is slightly abrupt, but the continuation is part of the series and I wanted this to be able to stand alone for anyone who just wants to enjoy a lovely bit of Tiger/Miles 
> 
> Maybe I'll write a second part to this as a separate stand alone series... sort of like a choose your adventure but instead choose your ship


End file.
